


meanwhile, one dimension over.

by jeezricks



Category: Rick and Morty
Genre: Also This Isn't The Canon Duo, Dear God I Hope That I Picked The Tags That Mean Platonic, Dimension C-136, Gen, If You Ship Freak Shit Don't Even Look At Me I Am Begging, Morty C-136, i update really slowly, morty smith is my original character, this is my self indulgent quarantine coping mechanism
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-22
Updated: 2020-06-22
Packaged: 2021-03-04 03:02:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,377
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24856528
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jeezricks/pseuds/jeezricks
Summary: Morty Smith, Earth Dimension C-136 is my original character, and this fic is pure self indulgence. I wanted to see a Morty kick ass, take names and not need Rick around, so there's a lot of that in here.
Relationships: Morty Smith & Summer Smith, Rick Sanchez & Morty Smith
Comments: 1
Kudos: 16





	meanwhile, one dimension over.

**“Well, it’s great to have you back here in our chambers again. And by that, we of course mean that it’s literally the _worst_ to have you back here in our chambers, C-136.”** There’s a definite familiarity in the way Riq IV utters his indicative numerals that rings almost personal, but understandably, there’s little fondness behind his severe greeting. _Jesus Christ,_ he thinks to himself sourly, _this fucking Morty again._ **“You know how this goes, so let’s get right to it. State your name and dimension number for the record, turd.”**

 **“Yeah, well, here’s somethin’ for the record: I’m not- I’m actually not too jazzed about it myself, y’know? Every time I get hauled here, I gotta- I gotta look you guys in the faces for like, an hour. And they’re really ugly ones.”** Morty rebukes, arms folded over his chest defensively. His insides quiver like jelly. Deep down, he’s actually really not so good with this confrontation stuff, believe it or not. What Morty _is?_ Still, he can’t half _pretend_ to be unflinching when a situation calls for it. Nerves sufficiently steeled and outward appearance nothing short of done with this shit, he obliges the demand. **“Mortimer Smith, Earth Dimension C-136. No additional numerals applicable.”**

 ** _“Watch it.”_** Another council member snaps suddenly, already infuriated by the blatant lack of respect, and Morty’s gaze drifts to the secondary speaker. Hazel eyes rest upon the decrepit figure boredly, and he inwardly debates whether it’d be worth it to point out he doesn’t even know the name of any of these other assholes- that’s- that’s about how relevant their input is to him right now. _Probably shouldn’t,_ he concedes grudgingly, upon deliberation. Don’t bite the bullet when it comes to spitting snark, y’know? Employing restraint _now_ leaves wiggle room to get away with saying more once this discussion inevitably goes to shit. Instead, he looks back to their spokesperson wordlessly, gaze expectant.

 **“Yes, Rick Prime, you’re absolutely right. He says what we’re all thinking! Now… let me see what you’ve gotten up to this time, C-136. While I’m reading the report over, why don’t you go ahead and tell me: who the fuck do you think you are? And why do you think you can get away with this shit? We’d all _love_ to hear it.”** Riq IV gathers up the loose-leaf before him and taps the papers against the imperial desk he sits behind, neatening the stack before beginning to look them over.

 **“I don’t think I’m anyone- anyone… look, I didn’t do anything wrong,”** Morty protests defensively. **“There’s nothing I’d even be getting away with! That’s- whatever’s written there, it won’t- it’ll all be a bunch of bullshit!”**

 **“Really? Because let me tell you, this is all lining up _very_ well with what we’ve come to expect of your character.”** Riq IV heaves a world weary sigh, bracing himself for what’s to come (this particular turd, and the circumstance of his Rick being such a generous contributor, always makes everything so difficult), and passes the report along for the other council members to peruse. Can’t effectively threaten this one, really. But like hell he won’t try. **“Here’s our working theory, turd. You believe that you’re special, and brave, or some shit, and- and you think that because your Rick happens to donate to us often that we have to tolerate this kind of shit from you and take it on the chin. That your actions here don’t have consequence. Am I in the ballpark, C-136?”**

**_“Not even close!”_ **

**“Then do you want to tell us what the fuck happened?! Do you want to, oh, I don’t know— _clue the council in_ on why you saw fit to push a Rick to the ground, stamp repeatedly on his ballsack, and punch him in the face until… he- cried—? Jesus Christ, in- in hindsight- this geezer’s not reflecting on us well. This is embarrassing. How does that even _happen?_ He got fucked up by a _Morty?_ I mean, at that point, you pretty much deserve whatever happens, right? What the fuck was I even reading there, y’know? Am I the asshole, here? I don't...”**

Riq IV isn’t quite directly addressing C-136 anymore come the end of that impassioned order for an explanation, and is instead glancing at the other members of his council incredulously, brow knitted indignantly. The other four Ricks murmur heatedly in irritable agreement, though they’re keen to point out Mortys should never possess the balls to lash out at a Rick violently regardless. With a nod of his head, the spokesman looks down upon the yellow-shirted bastard beneath him, and snaps, **“Whenever you’re ready, C-136. Take your time! Clearly you think this Citadel bows to your goddamn whims either way. Go ahead and phone a fucking friend- why not? You’re- you’re a little monster.”**

 **“Oh, I’m ready, you stupid haircut having- you’re a- _dumb ass motherfucker,_ ”** Morty spits vehemently, gritting his teeth, before catching himself. His gaze briefly averts, as if in wordless apology for his blunt outburst. He draws himself up slightly, gesticulating with his hands as he attempts to get across his reasoning. **“Look, I know it sounds bad. It _was_ bad! It was! I know. But that Rick, he- he was, he was pushing this Morty around, being such a dick, making fun of him, and- there was… he didn’t even have a reason! That Morty was mute, y’know? He’d- he’d had his tongue cut out, or- or maybe ripped out by some sorta alien… I don’t know. He was making this awful gurgling noise, he was frightened, and- what, was I just supposed t- to walk on by? Pretend I couldn’t see that happening?!”**

 **“That’s _exactly_ what you were supposed to do.”** Riq IV says pointedly, as if affronted he has to clarify the obvious at all. **“We can only assume that Morty was behaving in a way to make him deserve that, just as you should have assumed, turd. Besides, I’ll have you know that tongueless Mortys are in, uh- pretty high demand, for the more morally ambiguous Ricks. In fact, I’m pretty sure we offer services for a humane snip of the tongue. We do that, guys, right? … Maybe it’s more of a black market thing? Yes. It’s- it’s just an adjustment that can be made to you little bastards, for a price, much like implanting chips into your spines and weaponizing you for efficiency. And let me tell you something: it’s one that I plan to recommend to your grandfather if you continue to push your luck. Our tolerance only goes so far, no matter how much of an asset Rick C-136 is to the development of our Citadel. We won’t exactly crumble without him.”**

**“Fuck you! Wh- what the fuck is WRONG with you?! Y- you wanna know something?! You wanna know what _I_ think?! Don’t answer that: I- I know you _don’t_ , but fuck what you want, and listen up anyway! Every single one of you BASTARDS are DEFINITELY gonna die with each other’s dicks in your throat from how much you _suck each other off!_ How can you all sit up there, and say shit like that, and- and not hear how fucking awful you sound?!”**

His gesturing hands have long since returned to his sides, and his arms are _tensed_ where they rest now- C-136 is acutely aware of the fact that he’s trembling, shaking with anger that has never felt more well founded. Despite himself, he curls his fingers and balls them into fists, as if- as if he could swing for those smug motherfuckers up there from all the way down here. Morty has to jut his chin just to regard them with all this fury, and there’s nothing to goddamn do with it- his breathing quivers from his lungs tensely, and there’s a challenging look crystal clear in his blazing eyes. Can’t do anything about it, the reminder bangs in his brain. The Guard Ricks posted all around don’t even motion to grip their guns tighter, because they fucking know it, and the council fucking knows it, and they know he’s painfully aware of it, too.

Their broad, shit-eating grins say it all— at least, they do, until Ricktiminus Sancheziminius sees fit to glance upward briefly by chance, and winds up visibly starting, and fixing his gaze on something else entirely. Somebody else. Somebody other than the spectacle of that notoriously difficult Morty having an outburst. Ricktiminus Sancheziminius nudges Riq IV sharply in the side, and upon gaining the other’s attention and irritable acknowledgement, indicates the new arrival to the spokesman. He soon sobers, flashing the figure at the entrance to their chambers a bemused look- and the others are quick to follow his lead. Morty’s brows knit, and he glances over his shoulder- heart sinking—no, outright dropping—deeply into his stomach the very instant he’s processed it.

_Fuck._

**“Ah, your keeper’s here, C-136. Rick Sanchez, earth dimension C-136! We presume our message reached you in a timely manner… and yet, enough time has passed for your grandson to spit vulgarities at us for quite a while. I certainly hope we didn’t pull you away from anything important…”** Riq IV smiles strangely, almost as if simpering. It doesn’t quite reach his eyes, and there is something deeply false to the curve of his mouth. Belching, he waves a careless hand, as if to dismiss his own backhanded, apologetic sentiment before the other can even respond to it. **“… Though it begs the question of what could be more important than the Citadel. We both have this society’s best interests at heart, after all.”**

 **“Yeah, y- _eeeuurgh_ -eah, what-the-fuck-ever.**” Rick replies, sweeping into the chambers and standing at Morty’s side, flashing him a deeply vexed look. He probably heard that whole last part, and out of context, it doesn’t really reflect well on the flicker of patience he’s been trying to maintain all the while. **“I was balls deep in the concept of time when you motherfuckers called me, so ex-cuse me if I’m not particularly chirpy about being called over this time around. He- he better have at least killed someone, is what I’m saying. I was getting action. Literally fucking with time. I- I don’t wanna fucking be here for anything less.”**

Morty’s mouth falls open as he hastens to try and explain himself, ready to trip over his own spluttering words until Rick comes to understand that he was just trying to help- before he realizes, dully, that it won’t even matter. Huffing, the teenager simply looks askance, knowing full well Rick won’t take his side on this. Almost can’t take his side on this. Though it’s not like the other ever strives to have his back anyway.

This train of thought is a bitter one, and it rattles through his head so loudly, all the biting reminders that he’s in a room full of people who don’t give a shit what he has to say in the slightest, that he briefly tunes out from the exchange between the council and his disapproving grandfather. Their words are little more than buzzing in his ears, but he doesn’t miss much. They’re just filling his companion in on what shit trick he’s pulled this visit. A sharp flick against the side of his head soon bumps him back to reality, and a deep scowl curls the sixteen year old’s lip as he rubs it, fighting the innate urge to bitch. Rick scoffs at him, before turning his attention back to the six alternates perched up there.

**“See that? Not even listening. Look, this time last year, Morty was _all_ over the Citadel, just like I am. Continue to be. Nobody’s saying anything about taking issue with this place. Nothing but support in the C-136 household, for real. He’s- he's just going through a little phase, in case you can’t tell. You ever had a sixteen year old Morty? _Nightmare_. Rebellion, he’s all- all _stick it to the Ricks,_ y’know? He’s just being a c- _eeeuurgh_ -ontrary little shit. Christ, the whole reason he’s here is to pick some crap up that I ordered- did you even fucking get around to grabbing that, Morty? Before you started swinging for Ricks?”**

**“Yeah. I got it.”** Morty says shortly. **“Laruxion ore.”**

He finds himself physically biting down on his tongue, as if to chastise it prematurely as it twitches to run away with him about what a nightmare even just grabbing Rick’s shit was, too. This place is the fucking pits. The shopkeeper glared down at him, and asked a few dozen hostile questions about what a Morty was doing picking up something so volatile, so potentially dangerous in the wrong hands, for his Rick. _If it were up to me,_ he’d declared, unwillingly bagging the package up all the same, _you wouldn’t be running around with something like this. Taking it to your Rick or otherwise. Guy can’t pick up his own shit?_

 **“ _Aw, jeez._ Well,”** Morty had shot back, unable to help himself, **“I dunno- don’t you guys think Mortys are too stupid to do anything like that anyway? Ei- either you think Mortys are smart, and capable of destroying the entire Citadel with this ore, or somethin' and you won’t fork that shit over to me because of that- or you think we’re dumbasses, or, um, y'know, i- incapable sidekicks. In which case, there’s- there’s no harm in handing it over to me. Right? Just saying, y’know. Y- you guys should pick a lane. _Aw, jeez._ ”**

Suffice to say, Shopkeeper Rick was _not_ impressed with his take on the matter or moved by his rousing chatter, and all but _threw_ the bag across the counter into Morty’s fumbling hands, before angrily shooing him off.

**“Might as well have done it myself. Can’t even run an errand without getting stirred up in shit. Look, council,” Rick grouses, pinching the bridge of his nose in a show of utter annoyance, “Let’s just call this square. We all fucking paid for his shit trick today, right? I got blue balls, you had to, uh… _rightfully_ bitch at him, waste your… _precious_ time on a dumbass Morty. And he’s gonna get a fucking earful. I’d- I’d say it won’t happen again, but, Christ- is- was he even entirely in the wrong? If a Rick can get taken out by a Morty at all, he’s not exactly a valuable member of this society. The society I funnel a _lot_ of fucking cash into on a monthly basis, might I add. G- _eeeUURGH_ -etting pretty sick of the same old bitchfest about every toe my moron puts over the line when he’s over here. Do you guys do this for every Morty that acts out? I’m just sp-e _eEUURGH_ -itballing over here, but- I kind of thought I was donating to people that had slightly better shit to do than pull my Morty up for being a little- a little angsty, or whatever the fuck, right now.”**

**“… We do this for Mortys that repeatedly cause issues within our citadel. Which yours does to the point of _notoriety,_ C-136. If you’d only rein in your Morty, this wouldn’t be an issue to begin with—”**

**“Oh, my God- shut the fuck up! Shut the fuck UP—”**

**“Morty, YOU shut the fuck up. Sorry for him, as usual. Are we done here?”**

**“… Of course. We, uh, we’d like to reiterate our gratitude for your contributions to maintaining the-”**

**“Yeah, yeah, leave me another f- _eeEUrrrgh_ -ucking voicemail about it. Come on, Morty. Y- you’re gonna- I’m gonna fucking kill you when we’re outta here,”** Rick chastises, and reaches out to grip his forearm and pull him along as he paces away from his six alternates, muttering darkly under his breath all the while. Visibly nettled by the threat, the sixteen year old bitches top note and makes several efforts to wrench his arm free- and easily manages it once they’re back in the sea of alternates that is the main hub of this hellhole as Rick reluctantly eases his hold.

 **“ _Don’t grab me!_ And- and y’know what, don’t _bust my balls_ about this, either. Would it _kill_ you to be on my side, Rick? Like, _ever?_ Wh- why would I beat on somebody for no goddamn reason, Rick?!”** Morty explodes, and his grandfather rakes a hand through his tufts of blue hair and glares.

**“Morty, I’m not exactly in the _business_ of backing you up- not sure if you’ve noticed. You only bitch about that choice of mine all the time. And you know why I make it? Because you’re _never_ actually in the right. You’re always- always just, just taking everything to heart, and poking your nose where it doesn’t belong, as usual. Got that?”**

There’s a certain _bitterness_ behind his words. _How the hell do you think it’s going to reflect on me if they know I’ve **never** been able to put a lid on your shit, Morty?_ Rick sets off walking, and for a moment, Morty hangs back- hesitating to follow, eyes narrowed fiercely at the other’s retreating back… before he groans, and hastens to scramble through the thick crowds and catch up, demanding an explanation all the while.

 **“Why do you even put up with their crap, Rick? I- I don’t get it. You’re throwing money at a bunch of dicks, t- to support something you don’t even- to support the fucking _Shitadel?_ ”** Morty gesticulates wildly, hazel eyes narrowed and gaze intent as he regards his older relative, forearms raised and fingers splayed out in a demonstration of utter bewilderment. **“I’m just trying to understand why- why the fuck you would do that! Y’know? Y- you don’t even _like_ this fucking hellhole! The people who _live_ here don’t even like it! I just, I- I don’t—”**

Rick’s shoulders slump under this relentless bout of badgering wearily, and, if only to quieten the idiot down, he caves. Lowers his voice and mutters, so as not to be listened in on by anyone around them.

**“You don’t g- _eeURRGH_ -et it? Yeah, I heard you the first time. Look, M-Bomb, if I know those assholes—and I _am_ those assholes—being, y’know, blatant about hating their fucking guts isn’t the way to go. If I say what I think, tell ‘em to suck my balls and shove their society up their ass, how- how _exactly_ do you see that playing out for me?”**

Rick pauses, as if awaiting an answer. Bewildered, the teenager beside him blinks a tad owlishly, and at long last, opens his mouth in preparation to fumble for some sort of answer. The very moment he begins to speak out uncertainly, his grandfather purposefully presses on with his point, much to the boy’s visible aggravation.

**“I’ll tell you how it’s gonna play out for me. I- I know it’s a little beyond your, uh, _limited understanding,_ Morty. They’re gonna scout for a new paypig, come in the night, haul us outta home, take my portal gun, and make me a fucking _janitor,_ Morty. Meanwhile _your_ dumb ass is gonna- you’ll end up in that shitty Morty School, taking classes on how to bark great idea, grandpa, like- like some mindless little moron who can’t think for himself. They’d parade you around as an example of how _well_ they break you little bastards down into yes-man sidekicks, since you’re such a stubborn piece of shit. And that’d be if y- _eeEUrgh_ -ou’re _lucky,_ by the way.”**

**“… Ha. Yeah, well, don’t- don’t talk like you wouldn’t like that. The last part, I mean.”** He snorts, and a brief flicker of _amusement_ brightens his companion’s otherwise resigned expression. Rolling his eyes, Rick lifts his shoulders into an absent shrug as they walk, moving through the sea of yellow-shirted teenagers and lab-coated fossils.

 **“Only if _you_ don’t talk like you wouldn’t get a fucking kick out of seeing me _scrub a toilet,_ ”** he snipes, and they exchange a glance.

There’s a brief, strange moment wherein something shifts between them- all the unspoken anger, the seething temper, the typical wariness that clings to the air that hangs between them seems to all but ebb away. Morty cracks first. The corners of his mouth twitch upward slightly, a fit of snickers rises in his throat… and the second Rick clocks that he’s going to burst out laughing, he cracks up, too. They laugh, and they laugh, and just when it seems that they’re going to calm back down, they catch each other’s eye and lose it all over again. The other Ricks and Mortys waiting in line, or standing around for a return portal to their dimension cast them strange looks as they all but giggle feebly beside each other, adamantly refusing to meet each other’s gaze in a fervent effort to recover, now; letting things lapse back into their norm.

All good things eventually draw to a close, and sure enough, this temporary, shared moment of reciprocal sentiment is one of them. The teenager can’t help but _push_ it, however. _Let it last just a minute longer. I won’t hate you again, just for a fraction more time. Don’t hate me again, just for a bit longer._ While Rick moves to procure his silvery flask from his pocket, amused grin easing in the corners as his expression becomes idly impatient once more, Morty inhales, picking at a loose thread on his sweater if only to busy himself with something, too.

 **“Hey, Rick?”** His tentative broach at conversation is met with a grunt while the old man slugs back his potent alcohol supply. Casting his grandfather a tentative smile, he fidgets with his fingers. **“… Thanks. And- sorry. I- I know you hate, y’know, this whole- paying off this shithole, so we don’t wind up here, and stuff. And seeing those motherfuckers, and their stupid haircuts, more than you have to.”**

… Alas, his sentiment doesn’t quite have the effect he wanted. Rick doesn’t smile back, once he’s finished downing the last few drops from his flask. His brow narrows as he shoves it back into the pocket of his lab coat, and he shakes his head dismissively, as if in flat refusal to take the attempt to uphold their good mood at face value. Characteristic _disdain_ creeps right back into his tone- his typical distaste for and disapproval over Morty’s every choice today rearing it’s ugly head with a vengeance, it seems.

**“Yeah. I do. So I guess you owe me b- _eeUURGH_ -ig time, Morty.”**

He returns simply, and Morty’s heart sinks upon registering the snippy edge to Rick’s tone… before he soon finds himself frowning deeply, annoyed with _himself_ for even trying to extend an olive branch; consumed with that aching anger once again. There’s a certain, undeniable comfort to be found in how familiar the feeling of it is, ebbing in his chest. Losing the moment of enjoying one another’s companionship, of things being how they were some two years ago again, stings. Undoubtedly. But it’s better not to dwell on them. They don't matter, not when you look at the bigger picture of their situation, which is... complex, but ultimately boils down to a lot of anger on both sides.

Part of Morty always wonders if it’s his fault they are the way they are. Keeping each other at arm’s length. Essentially communicating through picking fights over nothing, and bickering over absolute bullshit, with terribly occasional, painfully rare warm moments interspersed amidst all of their resentment. If he were only more wide-eyed and naive, Rick wouldn’t be like this with him. Right? Rick _thinks_ that Morty doesn’t know _precisely_ what his fucking problem is, what it always has been, but it doesn’t exactly take a **genius** to decipher why he’s so harsh with him most days. Read between the lines of his grandfather’s unspoken resentment. Putting him down all the time. Hardly ever dredging up a genuine word of praise or fondness. 

No. It just takes a smart, semi-capable Morty, unafraid to call Rick (or anyone, really,) out on shit they try to pull, and general injustice. And Rick never _wanted_ that. What sort of Rick fucking does? The entire _point_ of a Morty is to stand beside you, go along with whatever you say despite their own rightful apprehensions, to freak out and struggle and be impressed, awed, and horrified by the shit _you_ pull. They’re sidekicks, sure, but they’re never supposed to be all that _competent_. That’s the role of the Rick, after all. C-136 _was_ fearful and clueless when they adventured in his youth. There was a time like that. But he _outgrew_ it far too fast, picked up on things far too quickly, keen for approval Rick didn’t want to offer purely because of how genuinely deserved it was. Jesus- even as a kid, Morty was perceptive. Intrusively so. Hyper aware of feelings, and the trend of his grandfather's visits causing a lot of tension in the house once he was gone. He was full of cutting observations— bursting with _alarmingly_ poignant outbursts over how Rick conducted himself, and affected the family, that were plentiful from the tender age of eight with that kid.

Rick speaks.

**“… Quit pulling this shit, Morty.”**

Morty snaps.

**“Quit _being_ shit, Rick.”**

They fix one another with a long, lingering look. It feels strangely like a game of _chicken_ \- daring the figure across from them to be the one to retreat, to break the prolonged staredown they’re locked into… and in turn, _out_ himself as the coward ultimately too afraid to _face up_ to the other. It ends in a perfect draw; grandfather and grandson tear their gazes away at the same moment, scoffing over how stupid it was at all, deliberately shuffling to sit a few more inches apart from one another.

 _Distance from it,_ the duo both decide sullenly. ~~Not as different from one another as they like to insist, unbeknown to the two of them~~. _That's all you can do now. He can’t be told._

Rick and Morty, Earth Dimension C-136, await their assigned portal back home from the Citadel of Ricks in silence; the balance restored in their uncaring world, and dynamic decidedly chilly once more.


End file.
